


All Because of a Branch

by Maltheniel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU where everybody lives and Arthur gets to use his brain, Alternate Universe, Gen, Magic Revealed, but before I knew the show's chronology very well, in a rather humorous way, so Lancelot is alive when Arthur is king, the knights also put in brief appearances, written when I had a handle on the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maltheniel/pseuds/Maltheniel
Summary: "Will you kindly stop knocking me out, Merlin!"Or, in which Arthur has an overactive imagination (or else excellent deductive reasoning) and gets tired of having branches dropped on his head, revealing something very important in the process.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 150





	1. The Trouble With Imagination

Arthur knew Merlin had magic.

Not because the idiot had told him – his servant was still mum on the topic. No, it was because Arthur had put his impressive skills of deductive reasoning to the problem that was his servant and finally figured the mystery out.

Or so he told himself when he decided his ego needed a boost.

The truth was, Arthur had known for a long time there was something strange about Merlin. He got ordinary chores done impossibly fast; he claimed to spend time drinking yet never came back drunk – usually breathless and sometimes acting wounded instead; and most incriminating of all, he still tensed whenever magic was mentioned as something bad. Arthur had tried to gloss over all this – he really had. But the fact that his servant was strange remained.

The fact also remained that Arthur felt deep down he had a pretty good guess as to why – and he didn’t want to face that guess.

He had finally decided one night to sit down and ask himself what would happen if Merlin had magic – in the theoretical, of course, because there was no way his bumbling, clumsy servant (friend) was a sorcerer. Just in the theoretical, though, what would he do if he someday discovered that someone like Merlin had magic?

His first instinct, of course, was that magic was wrong, always wrong, always twisting the user, and he’d have to kill the perpetrator – regretfully, of course, if it was someone like Merlin, more as a precautionary against their becoming evil than because they already were. And he’d probably find a way to do it mercifully, not hand them over to be burned at the stake.

No sooner had he thought that than he had a horrible mental image of Merlin’s face, twisted in agony and wreathed in flames at the stake. He shuddered violently and knew that option number 1 was knocked off his list – he could never turn Merlin over to his father.

He considered option number 2: a merciful death. And his imagination, which had decided to be annoyingly overactive that night, promptly provided him with an image of Merlin lying on the stones, his face frozen in a look of stunned betrayal, bleeding from the fatal wound in his chest.

Arthur shuddered and discarded that option too. There was no way he could kill Merlin or order him killed. He’d never be able to forgive himself.

Option 3: banishment. And now he was imagining his chambers without Merlin there, with another servant who would keep them in perfect order and never call him a prat or a clotpole; who would never be annoyingly cheerful, who wouldn't always, always be there, faithful to Arthur, believing in him even when he didn’t believe in himself.

What _was_ it with his imagination tonight? Arthur got up and paced, frustrated. No sooner could he come up with a reasonable answer to the magic question than he realized it wasn’t an answer he’d be able to live with.

What if he faced the idea that magic might not always make its users evil? What if it was a tool like a sword, either good or bad, depending on the wielder? He didn’t want to face that option any more than the getting-rid-of-Merlin options, because if it was the case his father would have been wrong and - and his purge would have killed so many innocent people. But bebother it, he had decided to make up his mind on what he would do if Merlin theoretically – theoretically, mind you – had magic tonight, and make up his mind he would.

He tried to imagine Merlin becoming evil, the power he had corrupting him, and this time his imagination refused to oblige. That frustrated him immensely, considering how hyperactive it had been before, but an evil Merlin wasn’t something his brain could even handle. He could come up with plenty of examples of evil magic, of course, but he suddenly began wondering what he would do if he was a magic user and hadn’t gone evil. He’d lie low, probably, try not to bring Uther’s attention to himself – and Arthur would probably never have met anyone like that.

Unless Merlin was one of them, of course. In which case he was more of an idiot than ever, to be living right under Uther’s nose.

Having more or less concluded, by elimination of all other options, that Merlin wasn’t evil and that he’d be allowed to go on living as he always had even if he did have magic, Arthur turned himself to figuring out if he was actually right or if he had sent his imagination to town for no real reason. This required paying more attention to Merlin than usual and keeping an eye on the oddities instead of dismissing them. It also meant some sneaking around, trying to catch Merlin doing chores too fast.

It took him longer than he had expected; for all his servant’s behavior was suspicious enough to alarm him in the first place, he was surprisingly careful and good at keeping his magic hidden – if he really did have it. Arthur was beginning to doubt that he had actually diagnosed the problem properly in the first place – which was a decided blow to his ego – when he came back to his room one rainy day more quietly than usual to find the mud he’d tracked in earlier disappearing from his floor and a flash of gold in Merlin’s blue eyes.

The discovery shook him more than he’d expected.

He said nothing to Merlin then, though, because what was there to say? He’d already decided Merlin could stay. And now he suddenly found himself hurt that he’d had to find this out on his own – that for all the years he’d thought Merlin was his (best) friend, Merlin didn’t trust him enough to tell him.

He spent a few days sulking as he worked through this, before his imagination came to his rescue again. This time it conjured up images of living in a kingdom where magic was punishable by death, serving the son of the man who enforced that law, afraid for his life every time he let his eyes flash gold. Arthur promptly remembered that even he had considered letting Merlin burn for a moment, and shuddered. He understood why Merlin would keep it a secret.

Very well, then; he’d wait. Merlin would surely tell him someday, and until then he’d keep his servant’s secret for him.

The next time they rode out against a magical threat, though, and he suddenly lost consciousness (a falling branch off a perfectly live and healthy tree, Merlin? _That’s_ the best excuse you could come up with?) and yet returned to Camelot in victory, Arthur had a much better idea what had actually happened. He was feeling rather smug that he could actually guess what had happened this time, in fact.

He also realized it had not been his imagination how many branches dropped on his head just before battles with magical creatures. He was less pleased with that and wished Merlin would find another of not letting him see magic that wouldn't be as annoying or give him as many headaches.

* * *

Things went on as normal for a depressingly long time. Arthur became king, and promptly relaxed the purge, and still Merlin hadn’t told him anything. Arthur was beginning to wonder if he would have to confront Merlin someday, and that rather shook his faith in his servant.

There was a sighting of a griffin about a month into his reign, and he and Merlin and the knights promptly rode out to deal with it. They were getting close, as evidenced by the roars they were hearing, when Arthur happened to glance up and saw a branch – a perfectly good, solid, green branch – letting go of its tree right above his head.

Well. It was going to be one of those days, then.

* * *

Later Arthur would argue that he had had one too many branches dropped on his head, and Merlin should have known he had a breaking point with that; and Merlin would argue back that yes, he’d had one too many branches dropped and it had addled his wits at last. Arthur would ask whose fault that was, and Merlin would retort that if he had more wits he wouldn’t have been in danger of losing them.

Whatever the reason was, what happened was that Arthur woke up in camp after the battle with a throbbing headache and knew exactly what had caused it. And he was tired and annoyed and had he mentioned he had a headache?

Merlin came over at once when he woke and knelt beside him. Later Arthur would realize there the look in his eyes was guilt as he asked softly, “How are you feeling, sire?”

At the moment, Arthur had only one thought on his mind, and he nearly shouted it.

“Will you kindly stop knocking me out, Merlin!”

Everyone in camp stopped what they were doing and stared at him in confusion. Merlin’s eyes were wide. “I don’t know what you mean,” he started to falter.

But Arthur was sick and tired of being bonked on the head. “How hard is it to understand, you idiot?” he snapped back. “Stop dropping branches on my head! I know you don’t want to show your magic and I get why you’re afraid, but could you choose another way to try keeping me oblivious than giving me a headache every time I wake up!”

Now everyone’s faces were an odd mix of confusion and shock. Merlin had gone white to the lips and rocked back on his heels as though Arthur had struck him. Wondering why everyone looked like that when he’d just voiced a reasonable request – forcefully, true, but the request was still reasonable – Arthur parsed what he’d just said in his throbbing head.

Oh. _Oh_. He’d just revealed he knew about Merlin’s magic _and_ revealed him as a sorcerer to all his knights.

One of those days, indeed. How was Arthur supposed to get out of this?


	2. No More Branches

“You – you know,” Merlin faltered, looking horribly pale and blank. And Arthur really, really wished he hadn’t let Merlin know he knew like this, because of all the ways the conversation could have gone, he didn’t want it to happen because he had been clocked on the head with a branch, and his brains had run away along with his tongue. But he had said what he’d said, and now he needed to make it right.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noted Lancelot had shaken himself out of the stupor gripping the stunned knights and was taking a step forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, which puzzled him, but wasn’t important right now. His shaken servant was.

“Yes, I know,” he said gently, rising to his elbows. “I’m not angry, and I’m not going to punish you. You can relax.”

“How long?” Merlin asked, still too pale and stunned. Arthur frowned, trying to remember how long it had been since the night he had sat down and puzzled out what he’d do if Merlin had magic.

“A fair while now,” he said at last. “I’m used to it now, Merlin. It’s alright.”

Merlin let out a long breath. “I’d have stopped dropping branches on you if I knew you knew,” he said, trying to smile. “But – but how did you know?”

Merlin was starting to look like himself again, so Arthur let his tone turn teasing. “You left enough clues around that I was able to put it together,” he said. “Really, Merlin, for as big a secret as this is you’re surprisingly bad at keeping it.” That was an exaggeration, though, because it had taken him a long time to put it together.

“I kept it well enough if you’ve only known for a little while now, you nosy prat,” Merlin retorted, and that was more like it. Arthur smiled.

“You’re really alright with this, sire?” Gwaine asked cautiously, and Arthur remembered the knights. They were standing near, clearly listening; both Lancelot and Gwaine were in protective stances, like they’d spring between Merlin and Arthur should he dare do anything to him.

Arthur raised his brows and stood up, still feeling a little wobbly from that last branch. “I’m not my father,” he said steadily. “I thought all this through a while ago. I’m not bothered with Merlin having magic.” He realized suddenly that this revelation had probably taken the knights completely by surprise, and that they hadn’t had their imagination put them through the horrible paces of what Camelot would be like without Merlin before this. “And Merlin is under my protection,” he added strongly. “You will not touch him.”

“You think we would, sire?” Elyan asked incredulously. “He’s Merlin,” he added, as though that settled everything.

Grinning in spite of himself, Arthur glanced at his servant and sorcerer. Yes, Merlin would always be there, protecting him, making him laugh. He was Merlin, and that was proof enough that he’d never do anything more dangerous than drop branches on unsuspecting people.

“You must have stories to tell,” Gwaine said admiringly to Merlin. “I daresay you’ve done more with magic than we thought, when you thought we weren’t watching.”

Arthur noted Lancelot nodding agreement, as if he knew that as a fact, not a guess, and revised his opinion. Merlin would never do worse than drop branches on the people he cared for. Enemies were different, probably.

Merlin gave a rather short laugh, though some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. “Definitely more than you knew,” he said quietly. And Arthur was suddenly seeing lines he’d barely noticed in Merlin’s face, remembering times when Merlin had come back from doing he didn’t know what exhausted and weary. He wished suddenly he’d told Merlin he knew earlier and given him someone to talk to about – whatever heavy things he did with magic.

“In the meantime,” Gwaine suggested, “could you light this fire? The wood’s damp, and it doesn’t want to start.”

Arthur guessed that was at least half an excuse to see Merlin do magic; Gwaine would be just the type of man who would want to see magic five minutes after learning Merlin had it. Merlin glanced at Arthur, as if for permission, but Arthur waved him forward. “I know about this, remember?” he said.

“That’s still so strange,” Merlin muttered. “You’re usually not nearly that usefully observant.” But he stepped past Arthur before he could muster anything more than an indignant, “Hey!” and knelt by the fire.

It was different, watching Merlin perform magic when Merlin knew he knew and was watching. He’d caught the flash of gold in Merlin’s eyes a few times since he figured it out, but he always felt as if he was intruding on something he had no right to see. Now Merlin let them all see his eyes turn gold as he whispered a strange word and let fire spring alight at his fingertips. Arthur smiled a small, pleased smile to himself.

They spent the evening comfortably around the campfire, coaxing stories out of Merlin. He had more tales to tell than Arthur would have guessed, stories he was glad he was finally learning the other side to. The following morning, though, he took Merlin a bit aside and asked him the one question that still bothered him.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked.

Merlin didn’t look at him. “I always meant to,” he said quietly. “But all you’d ever seen was magic that was used to hurt. I wanted you to see the other side of it before I told you, and there was never a good time. And,” he paused and swallowed, “I didn’t know exactly how you’d react. I didn’t want to die.”

Arthur reached out and clapped his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He wanted to say something about how he wished they had both trusted each other enough for Merlin to be able to tell him without fear, but he didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a girl. Merlin was the one who acted like a girl, not him.

“I’m glad I know,” was all he could think of to say.

“I’m glad you know,” Merlin replied quietly, glancing up at him.

Arthur let his hand drop. “Branches? Really?” he said after a moment.

Merlin groaned. “You’re still sore about that?” he protested. “How was I supposed to get you to not watch, you observant prat? Make a boulder fly up and drop over your head?”

“That might have been more comfortable,” Arthur informed him.

“I’ll try it next time and see how you like it,” Merlin replied.

Arthur gave him a hard look. “There won’t be a next time,” he said. “I’ll be fighting with you, next time.”

Merlin's shoulders relaxed in relief. It made Arthur realize that he was used to knowing about Merlin's magic, but Merlin wasn't used to him knowing. It would take a bit, he guessed, for Merlin to be convinced he was really okay with it.

“What about Camelot?” he asked after a moment, almost shyly. “Are you going to repeal the laws?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Arthur replied honestly. “We can’t have you getting a swelled head thinking you’re the only one above the law, after all.”

“I’m not the one with the swelled head,” Merlin retorted, but he looked very pleased.

They stood for a moment in the dawn, watching the sun grow brighter around them.

“Just no more branches, yeah?” Arthur said presently, smiling.

Merlin grinned back at him so broadly it looked like his face would split in two. “No more branches,” he agreed, and looked as though the weight of years had dropped off his shoulders.

Arthur slung his arm briefly around his servant’s (best friend’s) shoulders, and they turned back toward Camelot together.


End file.
